


Games without frontiers

by roo1965



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Torture, Sentient Atlantis, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 22:34:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roo1965/pseuds/roo1965
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sheppard’s lost and then found, but not happy to be back in Atlantis- why is that? Just because he’s paranoid, it doesn’t mean they’re not out to get him. Or does it? There’s also ShepLantis elements. Shep whump, h/c as standard. John and other POV’s.<br/>set  season 3, after Common Ground but before Phantoms & The Return.<br/>Written for Sheppard h/c LJ Easter Challenge fic 2010</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He is running hard, the cold air searing the back of his dry throat like a sharp knife. Like a snap movie edit he is here. It is dark, night and there are trees-lots of them, bare trunked and sentinel like, they loom with scratchy branches and twigs as he pushes past. And his mind screams _Run- hide- it's not safe- go!_

A foot catches on a root and he goes down hard, rattling every bone in his body. His mind is still screaming but there is no before there is only now. He glances round and automatically catalogues terrain, climate and threat potential. It's freezing, the slick sweat cooling fast on his body and he begins to shiver. He looks down at himself, dark t- shirt and pants. No shoes? But he can't feel his feet so pushes away the thought that they might be injured. His head and face throb and bringing his hands up to explore, he finds lumps and bumps and what feels suspiciously like crusted blood.

He winces in pain as he touches one nasty lump on the side of his head, and as images flood his brain, his heart thuds in his chest.

_You lie – pain - they left you behind. Tell us what we want to know! We can make you tell us! You’re all alone; no-one is coming for you…you can run but you can’t hide…._

He rolls over on the cold ground and scrabbles to his frozen feet. His breath puffs in great clouds in the cold moonlight air.

"Don't shuffle. Pick up your feet! Don't scuff along boy!"

_Dad’s here?_

The voice commands him to run.

Where the hell is he and which way should he go? Which way is safe? He staggers off anyway desperate to keep moving and quieten the noise in his head. _Not safe- run –hide- go- don't go home- hide. We will always find you_! He hears distant voices and the deep bark of a large dog.

He is running again, then suddenly he is in a clearing and there's a squat device in front of a large stone ring.

In his mind’s eye he sees it lit up and there’s a blue puddle in the middle, but it does not scare him. It’s home and warmth and family and a familiar hum tugging the back of his brain. It calls and he steps towards it. Wanting it so much it hurts.

The voices in his head clamour and he remembers fists, shouting and needles and not telling, the hum and tingle and off! He never tells, no matter how much it hurts. This he knows is true, has always been true. He cannot go home but the dogs and voices carry ever closer. What to do? He bends, half slumps in front of the squat DHD...how did he know it was called that? Bloody fingers already pressing a glyph, home…

No! No IDC- bug splatter on a windscreen for sure. Not home. They want him to do that, he’d heard them say so when they thought he was out of it.

_Run- hide- not safe- run!_

It’s so cold he’s practically vibrating. He cancels the glyph and his fingers start again across the pads and the outer ring moves, engaging a sequence and then the blue puddle explodes out towards him in the moonlight. Too loud. _Oh God, they’re coming_. Hands automatically go to his thigh and ear, but he has no weapon, no radio comm. Cursing, he runs as fast as he can towards the blue. Shouting behind him, but he does not look back. Then the noise of a phaser gun and something punches his back, propelling him forward at speed into the liquid nothing.

His mind never ceases its screaming as he travels. He comes through the other end and rolls into another world full of trees in half leaf. The shock of the travel, the stunner and whatever he can't remember from before catches up with him and it's all he can do to crawl into a deep pile of leaf cover away from the ring before passing out, sprawled in limp abandonment. His mind stops screaming. All is quiet. It’s a while before his shivering body warms to the coating of dry leaves over him.

0o0

He becomes aware of the smell of dry earth and something tickling his nose. He is warm and lying down. Before he is fully aware of where he is, a sneeze erupts through his body. The jolt awakens forgotten aches and pains. And panic.

_Run! Can’t go home!_

He goes stock still and hardly breathing, although his heart is pounding. He listens and strains for the sound of people or the Gate engaging, anything.

_They’re coming!_

All is quiet, only the faint rustle of the leaves and birds twittering. Cautiously, he crawls out of the leaf-filled impression. Slowly, he stands up, brushing dry and newly fallen leaves and dirt off his clothes and out of his hair. His back is stiff and his bare dirty feet throb, making him shuffle onto cooler grass to ease them. His whole body aches and he feels off kilter, twitchy. He looks around at the trees and grass-filled hollow near the DHD. He has no idea how long he’s been here, only that he is compelled to move on. He gives himself a few minutes to quickly forage for food and water nearby. Then he must move on.

_You can run but you can’t hide…._

He manages to find some winterberries and stuffs his face; the tart juice runs down his chin. As he wipes it off, he tries to think where to go. All the time he’s looking and listening, constantly ducking and moving under cover.

His hands are jittery and his thoughts still jumbled from the drugs, and he probably couldn’t make anything for his bare feet right now even if he had the time. He needs water too.

_No time! Go!_

He’s back at the DHD soon enough and pressing glyphs to a planet another SGA team have been to. Hopefully still non-hostile or Wraith culled.

Here goes nothing, he thinks as he runs through the event horizon.

0o0

He wakes up in the infirmary, cool sheets under and over him, the waft of antiseptic in the air and he drifts -feeling the familiar insistent tingle of Atlantis prodding at him like she hasn’t seen him for ages. Home. Safe.

With a gasp, utter panic surges through him, and opening his eyes, he flails upright. The blurry world tilts and whirls around him.

_NO! Offofffofffofff! Turn everything offoffoff! Now, dammit!_

There’s the sound of escalating beeps and then an alarm. Voices come closer talking and he fights off the hands and shapes that grip and push at him.

_No, get off me, don’t touch me!_

Violently he shoves back, yelling, fists swinging and scrambles out the other side of the bed, landing on the floor with a thud. A sharp pain in one wrist whites out everything for a brief quiet second, heart hammering in flight response, and then agonising pain like a migraine crowds in, squeezing like a vice around his head and vying for dominance.

_Run!_

The lights above him flicker on and off, doors open and shut and then stick half open.

“Colonel? It's alright.”

“No- no-no!” _offoffoff!_

“You're safe.”

“Not safe. Can’t be here.” He inches away on the floor until he’s backed into a corner where he can see what’s coming and he cradles his busted wrist on his lap, IV and other leads trailing the floor like lost dog leads. _Off?_

“Sheppard, quit messing with the door and lights!” a familiar strident pained voice says. The outer door slides shut with a thud.

He rolls onto his knees and gets up and dizzily turns round to the back door at a sloppy, pain filled lurch only to smack into it when it doesn't open for him, he flails backwards onto the hard floor. Oh, off! Darkness closes in as he sees Drs Beckett and McKay staring down at him. _I shouldn’t be here, how and when did I get here?_ he wonders as exhaustion and anguish overwhelms him.

0o0  
Rodney McKay watches with worry and confusion on his face as Beckett and the nurses rally round. They ignore his muttering and prodding at his data pad as Atlantis sorts itself out with a surge of light and brisk swish of doors.

“Carson- what the _hell_ is going on?” He tries not to stare at the blood splotched marks on the floor from Sheppard’s leaking foot bandages after his impromptu escapade.

“The Colonel didn’t know where he was and moved around too quickly. His BP crashed because he’s dehydrated and don’t forget he’ll be disorientated. No wonder he fell out of bed. I need to get him sorted out here. I dinnae like the look of that wrist for a start. Like he needs more on top of everythin’else.”

“Just do something- fix him!”

“We will, Rodney.”

“Something's not right,” Rodney continued “Why doesn't he want to be here? In Atlantis I mean. Although he plainly doesn’t want to be in the Infirmary either. Atlantis throwing hissy girly fits isn't helping either. We didn’t lose him for nine days and then get him back for this!”

“You know as much as I do- and technically you didn’t bring him back. Those traders did.” Beckett shoos him away with flappy hands as his team organise getting their patient back under the scanner and orders more tests.

“Alright, rub it in why don’t you?” Rodney’s voice rises, showing that Carson’s words hurt more than he intended, and he stomps out.

He hears Carson call out after him, but he ignores him, turning toward his lab instead. He tries to forget how still and battered Sheppard’s face and head looked on the gurney as Beckett and his team rushed him to the Infirmary. Lorne had stayed behind on the planet gathering more information on how and when the Colonel came to be there. Rodney hasn’t seen that much face scruff on Sheppard since he went through the time dilation portal almost a year ago. It makes him look so different, as if the blood, cuts, bruises and swollen cheekbone aren’t enough. Sheppard looks thinner than he remembers too. Carson’s team will be busy for a few hours trying to figure out what Sheppard’s done to himself now, giving Rodney time to go over his data one more time, and figure out what they missed, how they lost him, and why they couldn’t find him on their own.

0o0  
 _He is running. This seems familiar but now he is in a corridor, some building, someplace inside. His mind screams ‘Let me out’ and a door opens. He is outside. He continues running until he reaches the end of a jetty and there is only water as far as the eye can see. Trapped. Frantic. He can run no farther, gasping for breath, legs quivering, tender feet throbbing. He slowly turns around and sees the city with its spires and lights. His brain throws a safety switch and he collapses. He lies on cold ground, expecting to be out cold on the floor and deaf to the human voices in the metal earpiece, but he’s not._

_A voice whispers to him. “You are ColonelJohnSheppard and you belong in Atlantis, mine…ours…safe here…home now… always.”_

He woke up breathing hard from that one. Confused and sure at the same time, reeling from where, when, why, how. His head and face hurt. Actually, everything hurts but they were at the top of the list.

He doesn’t think he ran out to the jetty- his feet don’t hurt nearly enough, but it’s the kind of thing he probably would do. He’s not sure what’s real and what’s not, but Beckett says there was still a whole boatload of drugs in his system when he returned from the planet, not to mention the beatings he took. Hell, he doesn’t even know what day it is or how long he’s been here, recovering.

He keeps forgetting the order of things. The dizziness, headaches and vicious pain in the whole left side of his face derails any coherent thought processes. While the bad drugs are slowly metabolising, Beckett can’t give him anything good to ease his discomfort.

John lay on his bed, curled up on his good right side facing the privacy curtain. Why would he imagine running out to the end of the pier? Beckett said that after he dreamt it (and then apparently feverishly babbled about it) he calmed down a lot. But calmed down from what exactly? Did Atlantis make him dream it? He wonders what else he blabbed under the influence of bad drugs. It wasn’t like he had the option of saying no to them….

Underneath it all there’s still the itch of whether he did tell his captors anything vital. What did he do, back there in the blank hole of his kidnapping? What if they really are trying to track him _rightnowthisminute?_ What if they have to move the city? He doesn’t think he can connect enough to Atlantis to make that happen right now.

He still doesn’t remember everything, what with the drugs, injuries and infection and all, but he remembers running and hiding in a pile of leaves. After that it gets a lot sketchier. Flashes of hiding, a village and stealing shoes, a really nasty fight with several somebodies, his face exploding in pain and more running on feet filled with glass. He’s not sure if the glass is real either, but the pain is.

Then a complete blank.

No idea how he got back to Atlantis at all. And that scares him.

His team wants to tell him stuff. He can see it in their faces. McKay especially is bursting, but the head shrink says he has to get there himself. And there’s something else going on with his team. He’s told them he knew they would come for him- scouring the galaxy if need be, but he managed to escape when he had the chance. They seem overly keen to reassure him, even Ronon, so he worries about them and himself, the city- everything….

And the itch is back.

_Run! They’re coming for him, will find him, and maybe take someone else instead._

Can’t let that happen…he just can’t.

He’s restless, fretful and on edge, fighting everything every minute of the day since he got back to Atlantis. Stupid drugs. He hurts, can’t eat, can’t walk and now that he’s busted his wrist he can’t even play with his DS, even if he could focus on it. Crap. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so bad and useless.

He’s tried to stop Lorne and McKay and other ATA carriers from going offworld. Beckett’s got him stuck in the infirmary, not happy with the back and abdominal pain he’s having and suspecting kidney damage. John’s not quite sure how he got his busted cheekbone. Beckett only said it was more recent than the other busted and bruised bits of him. And the general crappiness means he’s not eating enough or well. The cut and tender feet are totally his doing though, escaping from whomever, wherever….

_Run!_

.... and finding shoes but no socks somewhere didn’t help a lot. Translation in voodoo- enforced bed rest and lots of bandages, painkillers, Gatorade and sleep if he can get it.

Beckett pads across the infirmary toward him, interrupting John’s thoughts. The nurse, Marie, follows him with a tray of bandages, scissors and gauze for his feet and arm. Beckett does his feet first. It takes a great effort on John’s part not to flinch as they are examined and gently cleaned and prodded. He’s grateful when they are salved and wrapped.

“Coming along nicely, son.”

John smiles but knows his arm is throbbing and a little hot under the gauze.

“Ach, this is nasty. Hang on- this is going to hurt a little,” the doctor warns as he undoes the bandages on John’s left bicep, and cleans the infected deep gouge he made getting his SubQT out.

Sheppard sighs tiredly and mumbles round his sore cheek and jaw “There was a good reason for doing that.”

_Hands tied above his head as they ask questions, not liking his smart-ass answers, blows to his back and sides. Later- tied to a hard chair._

_Painful injections “Gonna make you talk if it’s the last thing we do!”_

_Somewhere… some planet…a cell_

_“This is never going to work.”_

_“I say cut him lose and follow him home…”_

_…desperation…. something almost sharp…blood on his fingers and running….before…before…now._

“Aye, I know you wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t have to, lad. But it’s been left a wee while….” Beckett stops then carries on in a brighter tone. “Still, you’re here now and we’ll soon get you sorted out.”

“Great.”

“Marie is just gettin’ you a new cool pack for your cheekbone. Anything else you’d like?” Beckett hovers.

“M’good,”

He’s exhausted from quietening the itch that says _run_ and it hurts to command off all the time, every second. It’s becoming second nature, pissing off the city. Well, whatever. They’d deal at some point if he got his marbles back….stay positive John… _when_ …

He keeps being told there’s no trace of an alien tracker in him, on him- anything, anywhere. They’ve looked with the scanner, the X-ray and something Radek and Rodney MacGyver’d.

Everything hurts. He’s in achy, twitchy, throbbing, stabbing pain just lying in bed and he hates the blank pages of memory that refuse to come. Ronon looks at him like he totally gets his paranoia, but that doesn’t make it any easier to live with. At least Ronon knew who had him; Sheppard doesn’t.

_Blindfolded. He remembers the feel of the scratchy rough cloth round his eyes and the musty smell of it near his nose._

The itch settles in for a feverish, nauseous afternoon. Beckett bustles round like a worried mother hen, trying to keep track of what is kicking his ass this time. There seems to be plenty to choose from. The Doc orders another round of urinalysis and electrolyte tests and ultrasound scans.

John drifts, ignoring it, just wanting all of it to be over. If someone asks him how he is and if he remembers anything new, one more time, he thinks he will either scream or do something violent -one handed but deadly.

0o0  
Rodney returns later in the evening when Sheppard’s done trying to eat Jell-O and broth and can’t help the wince or keep from staring at Sheppard’s black eye and fractured cheekbone. The whole of the left side of his face looks disturbingly like a huge over ripe dark melon. The skin is stretched taut and shiny and just nasty. He can practically feel it throbbing from his hard plastic seat and despite everything; Sheppard’s dark hair is still perky even if the pilot himself isn’t. The beard is still present and still disconcerting, distracting. He hasn’t decided what to write on Sheppard’s newly casted wrist either, but inspiration will come sooner or later when he has a spare nanosecond.

Sheppard frowns and blinks one and a half eyes open, then waves a few fingers at him in greeting.

“Hey,” he croaks.

Rodney grabs the water beaker and thrust the straw towards his mouth. Sheppard sips slowly, like he is still cautiously feeling out the depth of pain and movement his mouth and cheek will allow.

“Sheppard? You okay in there?” Rodney asks worried all of a sudden.

He feels bad enough he wasn’t with him when he was taken, and worse that none of them found him. Now they all have abandonment issues. But, hey it’s only been two and a half days since Lorne’s team ran into the traders discretely looking for the Lanteans.

“No,” replies Sheppard, for once looking and sounding like he’s tired of pretending everything’s fine.

Rodney, surprised, has no answer to that and starts in on what he’s been doing in the labs. He watches Sheppard stare back at him without replying, and after a while he stops talking and opens his laptop, immediately getting sucked in, but knowing Sheppard won’t be offended. He’s not really paying much attention to Sheppard’s mumblings until he notices the tone sounds off, almost plaintive- which is not like him at all.

“...not like that- everything’s just wrong. Shouldn’t be here. I can’t…I don't.....”

He stops and the silence stretches

“Don't what?” asks McKay when there is no immediate reply. He looks up from the keyboard. Sheppard's dozed off and the light over the bed has gone out too. Several seconds later it comes back on dimly, grudgingly. Sheppard looks tired and in pain even asleep, his face frowning under the bruising and stitches.

“Rodney, is everything okay?” Carson checks as he wanders past.

“You call this okay? Because I don't. He’s broken .I've never seen him like this. It’s wrong. It’s not who he is. Fix him Carson.”

“I canna fix him overnight. Bones need time to knit and bruises to heal.”

“What about his memory, the head injury, and the drugs they gave him?”

“They also require time. The drugs are very slow to metabolise and you know what concussions can do.”

“We don't have time. What if his brain explodes! Look at him! They tried to break him. Something is wrong- he knows it, but he just can't get to it and it’s driving him nuts. Even Atlantis is acting weird. The SGC and IOA are already convinced that he’s compromised!”

“Keep your voice down Rodney! Leave him to get some well earned rest and get some sleep yourself.”

“He said he wasn’t okay! He never says that. If I didn’t know better I’d say he was depressed….”

“Rodney, I know. It’s the side-effects of the drugs, but I’m keeping an eye on it. Trust me.”

“Promise me you won’t sic Kate on him until he’s ready, because you know how well that will go!”

“Rodney, you’re tryin’ ma bloody patience now! What do you take me for? I have the Colonel’s best interests at heart. Now get some rest, please.”

0o0

During the early shift the next morning, Carson sits in the dim light next to Sheppard's bed. The sick man sleeps deeply and then starts to shift restlessly, his BP and heart rate climbing. He mutters under his breath and kicks at the bed sheet. He shouts No! and suddenly sits up shaking with effort, wide eyed.

“What…?”

“It's alright Colonel, you're safe. You’re home on Atlantis.” Carson wishes he didn’t have to keep saying it every time the Colonel woke up. The repetition is beginning to make him wonder if Sheppard’s alright and something or someone is on their way for him, for all of them…

“No, not safe. Can't be here. Oh God it hurts…make it stop….” he tries to climb out; groaning in pain at the movement. His eyes dart to his left wrist encased in a cast and he stops, blinking slowly at it, his face stark and pale in the dim light.

“I…I remember trees...I got out, I wasn’t supposed to….did I…did I fall out of a tree?” And then he throws up over the side of the bed and Carson’s shoes. “Dad? I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to…”

It takes several minutes for Carson to clean and tidy him. Carson goes to change and notices that the lights over his bed have come back on. He’s worried about Sheppard’s ongoing nausea and abdominal pain which he had thought was just lingering kidney bruising.

Teyla and Ronon are there when he returns.

“Has something happened?” Teyla asks staring at the curtain round Sheppard’s bed.

“He got a little upset and was ill. It's a combination of things. He won’t be up for much of a chat I’m afraid.”

“We would still like to see him.” Ronon nods his agreement.

“Of course.” Carson answers. He watches them settle in, both ready to help Sheppard when he next wakes. All of them need the reassurance that he is here and will be okay. He goes back to his cubby office and returns to studying Sheppard’s latest test results.

0o0  
When John wakes up he discovers that it’s much later than he expected it to be. Curiously his team and Carson are not around, and he frets and tries to stop the itch to run. Slowly hitching himself up the bed one handed, he sips at some water. He’s slowly flipping through a comic book Lorne brought by, when someone stops by his bed. He looks up, at first not recognizing the thin fair haired man but then with a giddy rush, he does.

“Dr Miller?”

“Dr Mallard, but that’s okay.”

“What can I do for you?” he asks, curious.

“See, that’s just it. I and the other doctors on my team wanted to visit as soon as we heard you’d been found but Dr. Beckett would only allow your team, Doctor Weir, and Major Lorne in. We feel guilty. But I guess you were in charge back on M9- military wise that is, not science wise- that’s me.”

John feels his eyebrows lift at that, but the scientist ploughs on regardless. He reminds him of Rodney but with less bite. Where is Rodney? He tunes back in.

“We’re so sorry for not helping. Doing something when those bandits attacked the village and took all the men. We didn’t realise what was happening until it was too late.”

Seeing Dr Mallard and hearing him say the words trigger a flash of memory…

_The sudden rush of armed men taking down the hut he’s visiting. Shouting and screams from women and children as they are held at knife and club point to force the men out. His different attire and weapons attract too much attention. He feels the first of many blows as he refuses to say who he is or where he is from._

“What could you have done?” he asked, a headache beginning to throb over his left eye.

“Well, a few more of our guns might have helped?”

“No, I told Lieutenants Harris and MacAvoy to stay with you at all costs. And they did, right?”

“Yes, but…”

“They were doing their job and you were doing yours.”

“But Ronon and the others found the villagers and the raiders but not you. Is it true that you were sold on to another mercenary group?”

“I don’t ... I didn’t see them, but yeah I think there were two different parties going on.”

_Half conscious and blindfolded he’s aware of being moved, held up by strong hands. Rough hands on his left arm and a painful stab. When did he lose his jacket and shoes? A cold rush slides up his arm and flows through his body. Voices reverberate and bounce round his head. A shove to the back and he falls to the floor, but it feels like it’s moving up and down. He curls up. Voices overhead. Hands roughly tug the blindfold off and grab his face, holding it steady. He’s too disorientated to have a clear idea of the face. “Matches the picture.” The blindfold is tied back on tightly, and he’s dragged up and away somewhere, until he gives into the cold seeping throughout his body._

“Are you okay Colonel?”

He swallows carefully, “Yes. Did you manage to help the people on M9 whatever?”

“Oh, yes. Based on the studies from the soil and seed cultures we took, we should be able to improve the crop yield and reduce pests. In an organic natural way of course, with their consent.”

“Good, that’s good.”

“I’d better go - things to do. I hope you’re feeling better soon.”

John smiles briefly as the doctor goes. He closes his eyes and tries to relax as he processes the new information.

“Colonel Sheppard?” Teyla’s voice is soft; he blinks in confusion for a second, heart thudding Run- hide- not safe- run! before he sees her worried look above the tray of food.

“Oh, hey Teyla. Lunch already? Where is everybody?”

“In a regular meeting, you are not to worry. Dr Beckett wants you to eat all of this if you can.” She says as she pulls the tray table over his bed and slides the food tray on.

He stirs the soup and leaves the spoon there.

Teyla digs in to her bowl, glancing at him. “Not hungry?”

“It’s too hot. Give me a minute.” He knows she doesn’t believe him but keeps quiet anyway and he’s grateful for that. She leaves him to it and he manages most of the bowl before giving up, feeling full. Tired. Hurting. Bored. Wanting out of the bed. Wanting all of his memory back. He scratches at his beard carefully ignoring the left side of his face. He doesn’t feel like himself.

“Would you feel better without your beard, John?

It’s not the first time he’s thought Teyla is a little bit psychic and he smiles lopsidedly.

“Yeah, I would. Lots.”

“I will go and ask.” She says and moves the tray table out of the way. He trusts her to do it, but she’s probably wary of his bruises and injuries. So he’s not surprised when one of the male nurses appears with towels and a shaving kit.

An hour later he’s blessedly face fuzz free and has had his hair carefully washed too. He literally feels clean and new on the outside. The inside, he knows is far from over but it’s a start. His afternoon gets better, with not only meds time but Beckett’s returned with Rodney and the others.

“Wow, I almost didn’t recognise you without the beard,” Rodney snarks as soon as he sees him.

“What’s wrong with having a beard?” Ronon asks quiet but deadly.

“Oh, er…nothing at all,” Rodney mutters, no doubt worried that he’s offended some ancient Satedan cultural belief.

“Never mind that. Where have you guys been? I’m going nuts here.”

“I have just the thing. Only for a short wee while understand, Colonel.” He pulls a wheelchair out from a supply closet.

John forgets no-one answered his question, excited by the idea of getting out. He’s still surprisingly dizzy as he sits up fully and inches his way to the edge of the bed. Beckett, Ronon and a male nurse supervise his transfer to the wheels. His feet throb fiercely as he stands for a few seconds and other parts twinge, stretch and ache. Otherwise it’s not too bad he tells himself as Ronon stops a sudden list to one side.

“Bring him back in an hour and no racing!” Beckett yells a final warning.

Ronon wheels him to the nearest outside balcony. Rodney hands him his aviators and he gratefully slides them on, muting the afternoon sun. There’s a slight breeze, but it’s not chilly. Besides, Teyla’s tucking a blanket over his knees. He closes his eyes and sits breathing slowly, listening to the water far off below. Just glad to be in the open air. The others are quiet too; he can hear MacKay fidgeting next to him.

“Thanks guys.” He says and there’s a chorus of “you are welcome,” “we live to serve” and a grunt from Ronon.

\--

“Colonel Sheppard!”

He wakes panicked.

_He’s tied to a hard chair Blindfolded. Can’t move his hands. Off,off,off! He won’t do it!_

There’s hands keeping him from moving

“Get off me!” he growls. The hands let go and he lashes out.

“Ow!”

He tries to stand but his feet hurt and stomach aches and he lurches sideways. Grabby hands again lower him back to the chair. Blurry faces become clear. He’s still on the balcony with his team, only Beckett’s joined in.

“Alright now Colonel? Know where you are?”

Shakily he nods, wiping his sweaty face one handed.

“Sorry, did I…?” he lifts his now painful casted left wrist.

“You got me, but I’ll live,” McKay answers quietly.

The good mood is shattered, Sheppard’s back aches, his head and face throb and his guts churn nastily. Beckett takes one look at him and orders them back to the infirmary. When his stomach finally rebels as he gets back into bed, Teyla and Rodney have disappeared. It’s a messy muddle and although everyone understands, he still fights them and the injection that Beckett gives, remembering other painful sticks.

“No, stop!” he yells before the see-sawing finally stops and he thinks a final muzzy _off_ as the chemicals take over.

“Well, that went well.” John hears someone say before he sinks into oblivion

0o0  
Ronon can’t sleep. He wants to be awake for Sheppard. To tell him how hard they looked, how long they looked, that they found a few traces. But nothing hides the fact that others found him first. He was lucky that they found him, took him in and began to patch him up. But there was still a day and a half delay getting Sheppard to Atlantis medical care. Beckett said he was lucky the brain bleed from the final face injury he had was tiny and mended on its own. What if….? He shakes his head. He knows better than to go down that route. He lived it for over seven years. What’s done is done. What matters is being there for Sheppard, because the road is not going to be easy. Nothing worthwhile is.

Sheppard’s restless, breathing out slight gasps of pain as he mutters. The lights dim and brighten.

“Stop! It’s…. She won't let me go...it hurts.”

“Who won't?” Ronon’s voice is quiet but forceful.

“Atlantis. She’s fighting me. Wrong.”

“What's wrong?”

“Feels bad, everything. Shouldn't be here- bad things going to happen.”

“Sheppard, be calm.” Ronon doesn’t want to have to hold him down and cause more pain.

“No, she won’t let me go. I didn’t tell, but what if...?” his sweaty face is scrunched up in agony, holding his breath and then he blows out air slowly as if that will release the pain. A moment later, he seems to pass out.

Beckett, alerted by the noise Ronon’s chair made when he stood up, comes over and checks on him.

“I don’t like this. Something’s very wrong; this is going on too long. I’m ordering more tests.”

Moments later Rodney's on the comm link

“Is Sheppard awake?”

“No.”

“Did he do something?”

“No.”

“The Gate’s dead. We can't dial out or in.”


	2. Chapter 2

Carson arrives late to the emergency meeting that Elizabeth and Rodney called, wanting to get a full work up ordered on the Colonel before he left the infirmary. He walks in to a heated debate on whether Colonel Sheppard is responsible for the Gate going offline and whether there is anything deadly heading towards them from space.  
No-one outright wants to admit or suggest that Atlantis may have something to do with it either, that the city is more than 1 and 0’s.  
  
“Do we have any teams out or due back?”  
  
“No, oddly enough everyone’s here, or on safe haven.”  
  
“That was lucky.”  
  
“Hmm, wasn’t it? I wonder…”  
  
“Rodney-you think it’s the Colonel?”  
  
“He’s a little wonky at present- but then so are some of the systems in Atlantis. But there is an interaction.”  
  
Elizabeth looks sceptical  
  
“You’re not suggesting that the city is sentient?”  
  
Rodney makes a see-sawing motion with his hand as if undecided.  
  
“There’s something different between Sheppard and the city since he got back, we can’t deny that. But I think it’s more push/pull than love at present. Maybe ‘she’s’,” he says, making finger air quotes “protecting Sheppard, or stopping him from leaving like he keeps saying he should.”  
  
“What if he’s right?” Elizabeth asks, worried.  
  
“What if he isn’t? What if that’s exactly what they want?” Rodney counters, straightening up in his seat.  
  
“Can we recap on what we do know of his disappearance? Maybe we missed something?” Elizabeth suggests diplomatically, clearly not wanting to get into an argument.  
  
Rodney disagrees “No, we may not have time for that. We need…”  
  
“What? To wait for a Hive ship to appear? Or someone else? He wouldn’t.” Ronon asserts bluntly.  
  
“Not willingly, no.” Rodney’s just saying what they all think, even though it’s a shocking idea when voiced in the open. Everyone looks a little uncomfortable, Lorne in particular. Carson knows he’s very loyal to his CO.  
  
“From the beginning then…”  
  
“Do we have to do this?” Rodney whines, “We weren’t with him; he was helping out SGA-7’s earth grubbing soft scientists! He went off to help some locals mend something and they didn’t notice the invading marauding bandits that took all the men for their slave trade!”   
  
“Rodney, we can’t blame Dr. Mallard’s team.” Teyla soothes, but to Carson she and Ronon look like they are feeling just as guilty.  
  
“Why not?” splutters Rodney.  
  
“Anyway,” Elizabeth continues “He was taken along with the locals and you downloaded the list of gate addresses. Ronon and Teyla investigated potential neighbourhood disputes and rivalries that might shed some light. You searched several planets before finding his subQT in a cell on MX9228, but by then several days had passed.” Elizabeth summarised.  
  
Rodney shivered. “Nothing left but the bodies of his captors and no sign of the other men that were taken with him.”   
  
“I think Sheppard was separated from the men on M9 at some point along the way. The slavers or bounty hunters took him to MX9-228, where Sheppard managed to escape but I know he took out one or two of them when he went. Someone else came along later and tidied up. Different gun and techniques.” Ronon adds confidently.  
  
“So, yes more addresses to sift through from MX9228,” Rodney picks up “I found the address where we think Sheppard went to when he escaped because he cancelled a glyph and started over. The log showed that. He knew enough, despite being high as a kite and chased and on the run, not to go where they expected him to. To hide. The cancelled glyph is the first in the Atlantis sequence- and yes I know all the permutations but it was Sheppard, I _know_ it. He would never lead them back here or to any allies or alpha site.”  
  
“He became a Runner….” Teyla says quietly. “When we got to the address Rodney thought John had gone to next, we did not find him, although we called out and searched. We found blood traces which Dr Beckett confirmed were his. We do not think he was there for long before moving on again.” Teyla continued.   
  
Lorne leans forward, resting his elbows on the table “I sent teams out undercover and gathered as much intel as we could. There’s a lot of unrest out there, hive and wraith activity, rogue Genii, mercenaries, slavers, whole lot of nasties looking for healthy labour and maybe a ransom opportunity. That or they wanted him for the ATA gene. We picked up on some minor disturbances- stealing, fights that could have been the Colonel. It wasn’t until I was on Kisor that I heard whispers of someone wanting to meet Lanteans discreetly. We verified credentials and they were legit and on our side as far as we could tell from our other allies.” Lorne nodded at Ronon and Teyla in thanks. “I thought the worst when the guy said they’d got a body and then they gave me his dogtags. You know the rest.”  
  
“Doctor Beckett would you like to add to the story?”  
  
“Well, he put up a fight when they took him. At some point he took some blows to his back and stomach resulting in bruised kidneys. He was tied up by the hands, had his shoes and jacket removed and he was drugged- common ones easily available on several worlds. It’s just the amount and combination that caused him problems. They can cause paranoia and hallucinations. Coupled with the stress of escaping, being on the run and acquiring a fractured cheekbone and another head injury towards the end have accumulated into the very stressed, dehydrated and painful condition that he is now suffering from.”  
  
“Will he recover?” Elizabeth pushes. Carson doesn’t envy her having to keep the SGC at bay. The _Daedalus_ was almost back to Earth. At least it meant Col. Caldwell was out of the picture for now. By the time they returned to the Pegasus Galaxy Colonel Sheppard would be well on the way to recovery.  
  
“Yes, but it will take some time and he has to have bed rest- his feet for starters. There’s no way he should be transferred to Earth, even if the Gate was working- I won’t allow it, and Kate agrees with me. I know he’s stressed out about being followed with tracking devices and everything. But he’s with friends here. He can recuperate on the mainland later if that’s what he wants. He needs to put on a few more pounds before I’ll allow that.”  
  
“That’s the line I was taking and the SGC were offering help, not recalling him, the last time I spoke with General Landry,” Elizabeth reassures the group.  
  
“It’s not over yet. Colonel Sheppard is remembering and he needs to tell us in his own time. Everything’s still jumbled and it’s painful and traumatic for him. Yes, he’s been captured before. But the drugs and head injuries are making him question his belief in himself. The not knowing is going to eat away at him.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because Colonel Sheppard likes control and order and he lost that nearly three weeks ago. Being bed bound is only reinforcing that. That was why I allowed the wheelchair earlier.”  
  
“That is good news of a sort. We shall be there to help,” Teyla says with a small smile.  
  
“I was hoping he’d gain more weight before I let him back to his room under supervision. That’s not going to happen just yet.”  
  
“Is that all Carson?” Elizabeth asks, wanting to wrap the meeting up.  
  
“No, I’m afraid there’s something else- I think he’s heading for a stomach ulcer or something similar. I’m stopping his food and water so I can do an endoscopy tomorrow morning to see what’s going on.”  
  
“But what about all those scans and X-rays you’ve done?” Rodney bursts out, surprised.  
  
“They won’t show that. If the endoscopy doesn’t work then maybe a barium meal will, but let’s hope it won’t come to that. Excuse me; I’d like to get back to the Colonel now.”  
  
0o0  
  
Carson pulls over a chair and explains the situation to the Colonel.  
  
“I hate to stop your food and water for the next 6 hours, but it’s the only way to get good results for the endoscopy.”  
  
“Good luck looking at my innards. Wouldn’t wish it on anyone, Doc.”  
  
“Aye, don’t thank me just yet. Your recent stomach troubles showed blood and that’s not good. The procedure should take about half an hour. I have to pass this lighted tube down your oesophagus.”  
  
“I’m not going to be awake for this am I?”  
  
“No, I’ll give you some pain relief and a sedative. It’s the best way to see what’s going on. I expect it’s just an ulcer or maybe a blockage. But we can sort those out right enough. Don’t you worry.”  
  
“I won’t. I trust you Doc.”   
  
But Carson can tell Sheppard is worried. Who wouldn’t be? As he stands up to sort equipment out, John stops him.  
  
“Carson- the Gate’s still offline isn’t it?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I can’t explain that. I don’t remember doing anything! What about teams off world, are they….” he asks worried.  
  
“It’s under control. Everyone is here or safe offworld. No-one’s been left in dire straights. Don’t fret. Rodney will sort it out, just you see.”  
  
The Colonel sighs and then scowls, “I guess so.”  
  
Seven hours later and Sheppard is lying on his side and the tube’s going down nice and easy. Carson’s team is keeping an eye on the Colonel’s vitals and on the camera images. There’s some redness, but that’s probably acid reflux. The tube carries on into the stomach, all seems normal until he turns it round. His eyes ping ponging between the screen and his hands steering the endoscope.  
  
“Bloody Nora! What in hell’s that?! Am I imaginin’ that?”   
  
“No doctor.”  
  
“Get Rodney here, now! How in the hell didn’t we pick this up on our scans and X rays?”  
  
The endoscope shows some kind of tiny device attached to the Colonel’s stomach wall. Gently Carson shifts the probe.  
  
“Bloody thing’s got legs. It’s grabbed on. Oh, here. This is the problem, it’s torn the lining. I wonder…?” Another part of the scope has pincers for taking biopsy samples and he manoeuvres them to unpick the tiny claws off the wall and hold it in the grabbers. He gently begins to pull the endoscope back out, keeping a worried eye on the monitors in case Sheppard suddenly crashes.  
  
He orders his team away in case something happens as it comes out into the air. He grabs a sample dish and hastily drops the bug and clamps the lid on tight. Would the air stop it or activate it? He wonders if he should add water or alcohol as he peers in at the plastic dish.  
  
Rodney comes in complaining and almost turns round again when he sees Carson gowned up and the endoscope in one hand.  
  
“Oh my God! It’s Frankenstein! What did you find?”  
  
“This!” Beckett waves the slightly bloody lump at him.  
  
“Urggh! That was in Sheppard? I don’t want to look at body parts, you sheep loving voodoo priest!”  
  
“No, you wazzock! Take a closer look.” One of his nurses takes the endoscope from him, and he turns to check on Sheppard as Rodney examines the tiny device.  
  
“Oh crap!” Rodney yells “Who’s going to tell Sheppard he was right? I think it may be a tracker!”  
  
“Lovely, that can be your job.”  
  
“No, wait! We could all be blown up by then!”  
  
“By who?  
  
“That’s the $63 million dollar question isn’t it?!”  
  
The Infirmary lights dip low and then surge, there’s a slight rumble and a faint far off zinging sound.  
  
“What’s that?” Beckett asks staring around.  
  
“Oh, god we’re all going to die!” Rodney clicks his earpiece “Radek…”  
  
 _“I don’t know how or why but the force shield is up.”  
_  
“What! Over the infirmary?”  
  
 _“No- whole city!”  
  
_ “Are we detecting anything in space near us?”  
  
 _“No, and the sensors are stretching really far out.”  
  
_ “Look I’ve got to go back in and repair that tear before it perforates and causes peritonitis and flush with antibiotics. You deal with this.” Beckett returns to his patient and the nurse handing him a newly sterilised endoscope.   
  
He doesn’t know when Rodney leaves, only that he’s not there when he’s done and his team are wheeling Colonel Sheppard to the recovery area. He watches as the nurses clean him up and leave him propped up on his side, monitors beeping in a soothing rhythm until he wakes up. Only then does he un-gown and clean himself up.  
  
0o0  
  
It seems like all he does is wake up uncomfortable and wonder where he is and what’s going on. He lies on the bed and gathers information. Bed. Infirmary. Oh, endo-thingy. No wonder his gut aches. He wonders what the doc found and he opens his eyes. For once he doesn’t feel quite as paranoid and the itch is hardly there. Tentatively he mentally reaches out for Atlantis; wanting reassurance that all is well despite the fact that he’s ruthlessly pushed her away and shouted _off_ all the time.  
  
What he feels is a deep thrum. _Alert. Waiting. Patient_. He sits up, attracting attention from the watchers posted round or near his bed.  
  
“Guys?” he asks dry throated. Now he’s worried, not for the city but for himself. Is he dying? Beckett approaches and gives him some ice chips.  
  
“Your throat’s going to be a little sore from the procedure.”  
  
“So was it an ulcer…or..?”  
  
“Not exactly…” Rodney starts.  
  
“Someone going to explain why the shield’s up?”  
  
“How do you know that?” asks Rodney sharply.  
  
“Because Atlan...because… I can _feel_ it, okay?”  
  
“We’re running deep space scans, and the gate’s locked down anyway. Nothing in or out. We’re invisible and unreachable for now.”  
  
“For how long?”  
  
Rodney shrugs.  
  
“What _did_ you find?” John repeats, worried.  
  
“Colonel, I didn’t find an ulcer.”  
  
“Well that’s great Carson.” He grins until he sees the sober looks on their faces. “Isn’t it?”  
  
“That depends. We did find this...” Rodney hands him a PADD with an enlarged image of some tiny metallic bug with tiny claws. Sheppard looks up puzzled then frantic.  
  
“Whoa. No, no, no! I was right all along! My god, a tracker. We have to evacuate! We have to go now! Get Lorne!” he’s yelling, his voice scratchy and he’s ready to leap out of bed.  
  
“Sheppard, calm down. It’s neutralised.” Rodney says curtly, waving the secure plastic container with the bug in.  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“Trust me. On short acquaintance I cannot detect any signal pinging off into outer space.”  
  
“Where did you find it?” John looks at Carson.  
  
“In your stomach. The wee beastie has an enteric coating just like or similar to oral medicines. On pills it means they survive in the stomach and avoid being digested too early where the stomach acid pH is low. The coating breaks down in the more alkaline or higher pH of the duodenum and the pay load is more effective. This was just designed to stay put, maybe for a specific time and then drop off and die, we don’t yet know. But the coating was causing you an allergic reaction and the claws had begun to tear your stomach lining wall, causing your discomfort and nausea. I’ll put you on meds and keep an eye on things, but you should start to feel a bit better. I also wonder if it was also causing your agitation.”  
  
“How did I get it? It’s too big to be injected, right?”  
  
“You must have swallowed it.”  
  
“Surely I would have remembered that, unless….”  
  
 _‘Make him drink this; the new buyer doesn’t want him fading away!’ A leather tankard appears and he drinks a sweet, very pithy fruit juice. He’s left alone for a while.  
  
_ “Who would have the ability to make this or even want to?”  
  
“Hoffan survivors?”  
  
 _He’s tied to the hard chair, can’t move his hands but his body can sense the presence of Ancient technology even through the mush of the drugs and the ache from being punched once or twice. Sometimes it seeks him out friendly-like. OFF,off, please! Too late, there’s a split second flash and then it obeys.  
  
‘The buyer will be pleased you’ve proved your ability and identity.’  
  
‘We think he’s maybe more valuable than you first said’   
  
‘I don’t think he will pay more than we’ve agreed’   
  
‘When he comes tomorrow we can ask him, until then he’s yours to play with’  
  
Sheppard spends a lot of time trying not to initiate Ancient tech. They don’t believe him when he says some of them are broken, never worked. They want weapons, bombs, spy drones.  
  
_Sheppard opens his eyes, having shut them as the flashback slams into him. Panting he says with effort “Genii,”  
  
“Those conniving wee bastards!” Beckett says angrily, seething.  
  
“We found this and we know what they’ve done. We can find this again,” Rodney assures them.  
  
“We can’t stick tubes down everyone who comes back through the gate. Or stop people from eating and drinking off world!” splutters Beckett.  
  
“Couldn’t we take a pill or drink something to neutralise it inside the body?” Rodney suggests.  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
“What if they don’t find us and they give up on it?” Ronon suggests.  
  
“We can’t stay like this forever- we haven’t enough power and we need supplies. They could still track the _Daedalus_.” John says.  
  
“Look, Atlantis initiated the protocol. So she can end it when she’s happy the situation is resolved. Not like we can do anything else. Sheppard’s okay for now, that should cheer her up.” Rodney says, then stops. “What?!”  
  
“You just anthropomorphized the city…” Beckett grins.  
  
Sheppard lays back and listens to the battle of words rage above him. A gentle hand on his good hand brings him back.  
  
“John, are you alright?”  
  
“It’s not everyday your worst fears come true.” he answers bitterly.  
  
“I am sure they will work something out. Is something else bothering you?” she asks.  
  
“Yeah how did I get back here, if I was drugged up with a tracker and took out my subQT?”  
  
“Well, much as I’d love to repeat old history- I have more testing to do on this. See if I can get a signature from it that we can track off world. I’ll let you know what I find. We’ve only just begun to look at it,” Rodney says in a rush and then leaves.  
  
“Are you sure you want to hear this right now?” Beckett steps closer, concerned.  
  
John nods. “When exactly is a good time?” He stares at Ronon for answers.  
  
“Lorne’s team bumped into a trader from Kisor looking for Lanteans. They had your dog tags. He feared the worst until they said they needed urgent medical help for you. You had a bad head injury and had been unconscious for too long.”  
  
Sheppard lightly touches the left side of his face- the bust cheekbone and gash over his eye.  
  
“Where did they find me?”  
  
“In the woods, but you had been in a fight with two off-worlders they suspected of theft and killed them but not before getting hurt.”  
  
“I don’t _know_ Kisor. How did I get there?”  
  
“We can only guess. You were running from the ones who drugged and hurt you.” Teyla says quietly, offering him more water.  
  
“The first ones thought they’d get more money for me because I wasn’t like the others from M9. They knocked me out and when I came round I was somewhere else with different bad guys. They were the ones who had another buyer- maybe Kolya?”  
  
He sucked in a shaky breath as he tried to put everything together.  
  
“Take it easy, Colonel.”  
  
“No, I have to know. It’s okay. They tried to get me to operate Ancient gizmos, but I wouldn’t, so that’s why they used the drugs: to try and make me. I remember cutting the subQT out because I heard them say they’d just follow me home. But now I’m not sure if that was real or imagined. Either way I was pretty freaked. Someone important was coming the next day and I had to get out.”  
  
“We found the house and the cellar where you were held, but you were long gone. Someone had killed the rest of the guys afterwards.”   
  
“They chased me to the gate, I remember that and dried leaves on the next place. After that I needed shoes, food and water. I wasn’t coming back here and I couldn’t go the alpha sites or other well-known places in case they found me again. Heck, I wasn’t thinking straight.”  
  
“It is remarkable that you achieved what you did. If not for the head injury, the drugs would have worn off and you could have discretely contacted us or whoever to come and get you.” Beckett says shaking his head in frustration.  
  
“So what now?”  
  
“You rest and eat some Jell-O. If you’re feeling alright you can go out in the wheel chair again, but no walking for another day or so.”  
  
“What about the shield and the tracker thing?” he argues, still feeling conflicted about being in Atlantis.  
  
“John, you say you can feel the shield and Atlantis. Why not trust what the city says to you? I am sure that Rodney and Radek will come up with something. Until then we must wait,” Teyla soothes.  
  
“I don’t want to wait! What if…” he blurts, tired of not knowing.  
  
“Sheppard. You’ve been here for five days, another few hours won’t hurt,” Ronon says, stopping his rant.  
  
“Let’s hope not,” John mutters grumpily, sliding back onto his pillows. He grabs one handed for the comic book and mentally tunes everyone out as he flips the pages.  
  
One by one, they leave. There’s nothing to do but wait for either the city to be attacked, for the bug to blow up- something, anything out of the ordinary. John has no idea.  
  
He gives up re-reading the comic; Lorne promised him the next one. He closes his eyes and runs through the patched memories. Picking and tugging at the knots, trying to remember every word and sound and blurry face. He settles into a light doze and still feels the thrum of the shield. Atlantis did that for him.  
  
 _‘Mine…ours…safe here…home now… always.’_ The words brush softly in his head _._ Comforting.  
  
He feels slightly embarrassed that the city seems to have reacted to his drugged out concussed worries. It’s never happened before. It can’t happen every time he gets in trouble off world.   
  
The city does seem to miss him when he’s away though, he knows that. He once tried to ask Major Lorne if he felt different when he came back after a long time away. Lorne had just stared at him. All he’d said was “Just glad to get cleaned up, and out of my boots. Feels good to be back, sir.” John didn’t know if that meant that Lorne _did_ feel a welcoming buzz and chatter of data, that his door opened quickly and the shower was at the right temperature, like he always did. He didn’t ask again.  
  
He wonders what would happen if he got recalled permanently back to Earth, if he’d get withdrawal symptoms, or if Atlantis would.   
  
Weird thoughts. Talking of weird, he wonders if Rodney’s made any progress, but it’s far too soon to ask.  
  
An hour and a half later, he’s working his way through a Sudoku book he scrounged off one of the nurses when Beckett appears. He looks up expectantly.  
  
“Rodney’s called everyone to meet here, he’s got some answers.”  
  
John swallows, his heart beginning to speed up with worry.  
  
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Beckett reassures him, although he must be worried too.  
  
Rodney rushes in after Elizabeth and his team have arranged themselves on chairs and beds nearby.  
  
“The bug…” he begins.  
  
“Can you _not_ use that word?” John asks, scowling.  
  
“Sorry. The tracker that Carson found in your stomach is not transmitting a signal.”  
  
“That’s great news, Rodney,” Elizabeth enthuses.  
  
Rodney raises a finger “Well, you’d like to think so wouldn’t you? But as far as we can determine, it _never_ had the capability to do so.”  
  
“What?” John shouts.  
  
“I don’t understand,” says Teyla.  
  
“I heard them say they’d follow me. They knew about the SubQT, about Ancient tech!”  
  
“I know, I know. It was sneaky to get you to drink it unaware. And pure genius to get it to attach itself to your stomach wall and stay there for so long, although maybe it was too long. I’m not sure if there was a time factor involved, or the coating wore off too soon. I think Beckett’s right about the coating on it affecting you too, or maybe you were allergic. Either way you felt ill and the drugs made you super paranoid.”  
  
“If the tracker never worked, then why plant it?”  
  
“To play mind games, it’s actually quite crude when you look at its design in detail. It’s like they tried to copy one of those bugs- _sorry !-_ Cold War spies used to put in phones or light switches. But this coating has mostly deteriorated and I don’t know if that had some specific effect on you or not,” Rodney thought out aloud.  
  
“To see what I’d do, observed like some damn lab rat in a maze?” John is horrified, outraged.  
  
Rodney shrugs and then nods, clearly not liking it any more than the rest of them.  
  
“Did they hope it would turn out to be some kind of weapon? Like a Super Soldier only it backfired? Do you think they could make it work in the near future?” John has to know.  
  
“That’s a possibility. But the problems with interactions and the added complication of the ATA gene that they were maybe hoping to piggy-back on to, failed completely. Their understanding of genetics is not advanced enough. Too many variables involved with species, signal boosting and being able to track over distance. The coating is unstable; the claws could dig too deep and cause a rupture killing the person. Unless, of course that’s what they wanted to do…” Rodney mused, oblivious to everyone’s horrified reaction to the last sentence.  
  
John’s had enough. He throws the cover off his bed and starts to scoot off. “I’m going to the Chair with this thing in my hand and let Atlantis tell us for sure if it’s viable or not.”  
  
“Hang on, just a wee second here. Did I say you could walk anywhere yet?” Beckett argues.  
  
“No, but just watch me...”  
  
Beckett huffs and drags the wheelchair out, “Fine, if you’re going at least use this. And I’m coming along to make sure you’re alright.”  
  
“Me too,” Ronon adds. Teyla and Rodney also look determined and John mutters “Fine,” as he slides into the chair and begins to push himself along.   
  
Rodney takes over. “Look, Radek and I have double checked. We looked in the ancient database too. I’m as sure as I can be that it _never_ worked, and whoever made it will not _be able_ to make it work.”  
  
“Okay, I hear you- but I need this and I think the city does too.”  
  
“Just get in there and sweet talk your girlfriend into giving control of her city back to us mere mortals would you? I hate to think of the power drain.”  
  
Some minutes later and they’re in the Chair room. It’s familiar to John, the others less so. Before they can stop him, he stands upright and hop-shuffles to the Chair. It immediately glows bright white blue and tilts back.  
  
More direct than the normal hum and buzz when he’s in the Chair, Atlantis ripples over and through him in a more visceral way. He’s never told Rodney that and doesn’t intend to. He feels like he’s being scanned, comforted and reassured all at the same time.  
  
 _I’m alright.  
_  
“Rodney, give me the tracker,” he grunts, keeping his eyes closed. He flips his good hand in the gel pad and wiggles his fingers.  
  
“Thank god, I thought you wanted to swallow it,” huffs Rodney as he places it in his palm.  
  
John turns his hand over and waits. He doesn’t know why this should work more than Atlantis accessing their laptops and servers directly with Rodney’s research, but he does it anyway. It feels like the right thing to do. Data and images speed across his inner eye, comparing, rejecting and assimilating.  
  
He knows exactly when the shield goes down and the Gate goes back online. There’s a rush of power and all he sees are1’s and 0’s, followed by a giddy feeling and a soft caress _Safe now_ kisses across his nerve endings.  
 _  
_The _thank you_ he manages seems hardly enough.  
 _  
_“That’s it?” he vaguely hears Rodney say.  
  
“Yeah, that’s it,” John agrees. He opens his eyes, a little heady from the intensity of the session in the Chair. Beckett hovers as he hop shuffles unsteadily back to the waiting wheelchair.  
  
“You want fanfares and rockets, Sheppard?” Rodney asks.  
  
“Ferris wheels would be good.”  
  
Rodney laughs as they return to the Infirmary. His team stays with him as he rests up and they have dinner together. This time he manages all of the soup and some bread. Progress at last, though he’d like to eat something that isn’t semi-liquid at some point in his future. Beckett says tomorrow if he’s still doing well and then asks him about the lingering headaches. He tries to reassure the Doc that they _are_ beginning to lessen. Beckett stares back, and decides to believe him and gives his bandages tender feet a last check before bedtime. Finally he’s on his own again.  
  
Almost over. _Just the recovering to do,_ he thinks as he tries to get comfortable in the narrow bed.  
  
He still hates the idea that it was all some sort of twisted sick game, that he was a test subject for a prototype that could never work, that he was a puppet, a toy.  
  
He settles down, planning at least eleven different ways to kill Kolya before falling asleep. But that’s alright because he can think up more when he wakes, and after that Ronon can help him.  
  
The itch is gone and when he’s fit enough to run, it’ll be with Ronon for exercise rather than because he has no idea what he’s doing. Or at least he hopes not.   
  
  
END  
  
  
Prompt: Some plotty Sheppard H/C would be nice, maybe with a feral Sheppard, or Sheppard having some kind of emotional breakdown with a side order of physical whump. Or a feral/military bad-a** Sheppard kicking butt and taking names, and again with a side order of physical whump ;) Bonus if there is torture and/or weight loss but not a must. Also a bonus if the whump is interesting. That is, (and this is just an example, not part of the request. But if you want to use the idea that is fine) rather than Sheppard merely shot, he's shot with a bullet that is slowly releasing some kind of toxin or that's a tracking device.


End file.
